


Spark

by PhoenixAccio



Series: Shadows!verse [3]
Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album)
Genre: Deaf Character, Fun Ghoul is deaf, Gen, Late Night Conversations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-02 02:40:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14534898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixAccio/pseuds/PhoenixAccio
Summary: Party Poison has always had a fascination with fire.





	Spark

Party Poison flicks on his lighter, watching the little flame dance. He's always been fascinated by fire, ever since he found that tiny box of matches in an alley, back when he still lived in Battery City.

The fire from the matches was so different from this flame, despite being the same thing. The lighter smells like gasoline, as opposed to the matches' sulphuric scent. There was blue at the bottom of this flame. The matches hadn't had that. 

Party Poison is mesmerized by the concept of bringing the light and heat and _energy_ into existence, just like that, like creating life. In the City, lighting fires had given him some sense of freedom. Not big fires, of course, just a few little things, here and there. Spare paper, a wrapper from something he'd eaten. The touches of colour in the flames were some of the only colours he saw before the desert, but none of those fires burned hot enough for this shade of electric blue.

Poison stretches out on the flat roof of the diner. The stars aren't visible anymore. They were blocked out years ago by all the smog, back when people still thought oil would never run out. The satellites are the only things you can see up there now. They have lights too, artificial stars. These days it's hard to find things that aren't man-made.

That's part of the allure of fire to him. No matter how it's brought into existance, whether through this lighter, by a lightning strike, or anything in between, it's still natural, and almost impossible to control. 

Poison wants to be like that. Uncontrollable, organic, something Better Living can never tie down. Maybe that's why he dyed his hair a bright scarlet some time after leaving the city, as he was trying to settle into himself, uninhibited by the pressure of pretending to be a medicated zombie, like everyone else in the City. 

This newfound freedom is exhilarating. Poison is fully ready to embrace it with his entire being, and hold on for dear life. Because it _is_ his life. This freedom, this colour, it's _life itself,_ and Poison would't accept it any other way.l

Poison remains sprawled on the Diner's rooftop for he doesn't know how long after that, just feeling the desert breeze blow softly over him. Eventually, he hears a creak from behind him. The rooftop door swinging open. Fun Ghoul's voice follows soon after.

"Hey, Poison." Quiet, so at odds with his personality in the daytime.

Poison sits up, turns to look at Ghoul. His eyes automatically flick to Ghoul's ears, spotting the flash of purple plastic that means his hearing aids are in, so responding verbally won't be totally pointless.

"Hey," Poison replies.

"What are you doing up here? It's late," Ghoul says, taking a couple of steps closer to Poison.

"I just needed some air," Poison replies vaguely. "It's nice out here at night."

Ghoul takes a few more steps, making his way to the edge of the roof where Poison is sitting with his legs crossed in front of him, childlike, which is a word nobody in their right mind would ever even consider using to refer to Poison in the daytime, when he has his defences up. Poison is more vulnerable at night. So is Ghoul.

"Yeah," Ghoul folds himself up to sit next to Poison, arms around his bent knees. "Yeah, it is."

The two men sit on the rooftop, watching the bright dots of the satelites in silence. Right now, here on the rooftop, they're not killjoys. They aren't warriors, they aren't any kind of saviors, as some stories make them out to be. They're just two humans, made less alone in the vast expanse of the universe by the other's company, and that of Jet Star and Kobra Kid, still asleep, unknowing, inside. They were just humans, stripped down to their bare souls. Natural.

It was nice to just bask on their humanity, if only for the few hours before the sun made its way over the edge of the horizon, and they began another day. It was nice, for the time they had, just to be them for a bit. Just to be human.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr @phoenixaccio


End file.
